


Ravel

by sciencefictioness



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, But he's not important, Deadlock Gang, Deadlock McCree, Deadlock Shimadas, Fights, I'm Out Of Fucks To Give, Just Wanted To Write This From An Outside Perspective, M/M, Original Character(s), Our Boys Are Gangsters, Sibling Incest, They Are Not Exactly Nice Here, Violence, possessive hanzo, this is very self indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 06:05:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12184383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: This one didn’t look like a Deadlock elite to Riggs, half naked with jeans tight enough that they made heat pool in his guts.He had boots up to his knees, and dark liner thick around his eyes.  Nails painted green, rings on his fingers, a tangle of necklaces around his throat.  There were more kanji there, right over his pulse point, stark black against his pale skin.  The same letters that were on his knuckles, maybe.  Similar, at the very least.Riggs’ wanted to put his mouth on them, sink his teeth in.Then bright amber eyes flicked up, and Riggs was caught out again, blatantly staring.  The guy let the bottle fall from his mouth to make room for a lascivious grin, biting his bottom lip, gaze flitting across the room for a long moment before sliding back to Riggs.  He laughed, and slunk over to where Riggs was sitting before sliding into his lap without preamble.“You’re new.”  He said, smiling wide as he perched on Riggs knees, facing him.  His hands went up to Riggs neck, one clutching at his bottle of whiskey while the other stroked over Riggs jaw.  Long fingers sifted through Riggs tangled hair, scratching at his scalp like he was petting a dog.  “I’m Genji.”





	Ravel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trueblackhand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trueblackhand/gifts), [Kahleniel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahleniel/gifts).



> Deadlock Shimadas, Kahl said, and I was fucking sold.
> 
> I got writers block on my commission, and this really self indulgent thing erupted, almost without my consent. 
> 
> Basically, what if Sojiro was a lower level Shimada, instead of the head of the clan, and his boys got sent to America to keep an eye on their interests there. This OC isn't relevant, but I needed him for perspective. I wouldn't get attached. 
> 
> Jesse, Genji, and Hanzo are gang members here. They aren't the nicest of guys. Don't hold it against them. Ideally, I will get around to the part where they get raided by Blackwatch, and are forced by Reyes to join. We'll see how that plays out. Please enjoy!

It wasn’t his first time at the bar with the boys, but Riggs had never been there when so many of the higher level Deadlocks were around.  Never gotten invited before, but he’d been a hangaround for a long time, and done well on a job with a couple of their prospects.  Now he was being extended an official invitation to pledge himself, and Riggs felt nervous excitement rattling around in his guts as he walked through the doors, the relative quiet of the night broken by raucous laughter and bright lights and loud music.

 

A few curious glances were thrown their way as they entered, some familiar, others not.  The air was thick with cigarette smoke, the staccato clack of pool balls knocking into each other adding to the chaotic din of voices, and Riggs blinked through the haze.  Someone pressed a beer bottle into his hand, nodding in greeting, and he took a seat along the wall close to one of the pool tables.  Out of the way, taking in the unfamiliar faces, some of which he knew by reputation even if he’d never been introduced personally.

 

Jesse, for one, leaned against the bar, talking with one of the Deadlocks Riggs didn’t recognize.  His cowboy hat sat low on his head, tattered and fraying, and he was grinning above the red bandana wrapped around his throat.  Ragged jeans with a ridiculous gold buckle, a pair of fingerless gloves, a chain dangling from his wallet.  A worn leather vest hung from a nearby chair, one of the faded patches on the back proclaiming it ‘Property of Jesse’, just above a skull bearing an X over an empty eye socket.  Everyone knew him.  Rival gangs talked about him in hushed tones, while Deadlock prospects whispered his name like some kind of prayer.

 

Said he could kill you with his eyes, in the space of a breath.  Slow time, freeze the whole world around him, put a half dozen men in the dirt without blinking.

 

Riggs had never seen it himself, but enough of the boys talked about it that it was hard not to believe them.  The looks on their faces, awestruck, a little bit haunted.  Now he caught Riggs staring, and gave him a quick nod, but Jesse wasn’t really paying attention to him.  Not that Riggs could blame him.

 

He followed Jesse’s gaze, and his breath got caught up in lungs, hitching with a hunger like he hadn’t felt in ages.  There was a guy standing in the middle of the bar, a bottle of whiskey pressed to his mouth, eyes closed as he took long pulls of the liquid inside.  Shirtless with an intricate green dragon tattoo sprawling across his right arm and over his chest, hair the same vivid color as his ink, long enough that it was falling down over his brows.  There were more tattoos, a stylized bird of some sort on his left shoulder, words on his knuckles, something in kanji.  Riggs couldn’t read Japanese, didn’t know what it said, but someone would probably be able to tell him.  

 

They had a solid half dozen Japanese guys in their ranks, Deadlocks by proxy, liaisons to the gangs connections in Asia.  He’d never met any of them, never even seen any of them.  All of them were well above his pay grade, and he hadn’t heard a lot about them, other than it was smart to steer clear.  Keep his head down, be respectful.  This one didn’t look like a Deadlock elite to Riggs, though, half naked with jeans tight enough that they made heat pool in his guts.  

 

He had boots up to his knees, and dark liner thick around his eyes.  Nails painted green, rings on his fingers, a tangle of necklaces around his throat.  There were more kanji there, right over his pulse point, stark black against his pale skin.  The same letters that were on his knuckles, maybe.  Similar, at the very least.  

 

Riggs’ wanted to put his mouth on them, sink his teeth in.

 

Then bright amber eyes flicked up, and Riggs was caught out again, blatantly staring.  The guy let the bottle fall from his mouth to make room for a lascivious grin, biting his bottom lip, gaze flitting across the room for a long moment before sliding back to Riggs.  He laughed, and slunk over to where Riggs was sitting before sliding into his lap without preamble.  

 

“You’re new.”  He said, smiling wide as he perched on Riggs knees, facing him.  His hands went up to Riggs neck, one clutching at his bottle of whiskey while the other stroked over Riggs jaw.  Long fingers sifted through Riggs tangled hair, scratching at his scalp like he was petting a dog.  “I’m Genji.”  Riggs’ hands found Genji’s hips automatically, grinning in spite of himself, half drunk already and pleased with how the evening was playing out.  

 

“Riggs.  I’m a prospect.”  

 

Genji arched in his lap, eyes going half lidded, tongue licking over his teeth.

 

“Mmm.  You’re a lot of things, I’m sure.”

 

There was a laugh in Genji’s voice, lilting, suggestive.  A thick accent, and Riggs let his fingers sink into the meat of Genji’s thighs before moving them to his ass and digging in hard.  

 

“Riggs.”  A voice said warningly from somewhere to his left, and Riggs sighed.

 

“What?”  He replied, not looking away from Genji, who was edging in closer against him.  It was hard to focus on anything besides the flex of Genji’s abdomen, the thin sheen of sweat on his chest, the ink twisting pretty over his arms.  He’d always heard the boys talking about how one of the perks of being a Deadlock was the steady supply of girls, willing and eager to please, trailing the gang around everywhere they gathered.

 

He’d never been all that interested in getting into Deadlock just to get laid, but he’d obviously hadn’t thought that through far enough.  Genji leaned in, nose nudging at Riggs’ cheek, eyes glittering like he knew something Riggs didn’t.

 

“Riggs.”  

 

The voice came again, stern and serious, and Riggs fought down the irritation that wanted to rise in him at the sound.  He ignored it, unwilling to be distracted from the warm, pliant weight of Genji in his lap.  Riggs pressed his mouth to the ink on Genji’s throat, letting it linger, waiting to see if he’d be pushed away.  Genji seemed eager enough, but he didn’t want to assume, wasn’t going to be an asshole about it if he was refused.   
  


“Jesse.”

 

A different voice.  Louder, accented like Genji’s, cutting through the room like a knife.  It was as though the volume of the entire place had been turned down all at once.  Riggs froze, seeking out the speaker instinctively, uneasiness swelling in him.  

 

Movement caught his eye, another Japanese guy, taking a pool cue from the rack on the wall.  This one had an undercut, long dark hair tied up in a bun.  He was shortish, with boots much like Genji’s, but his jeans were full of holes, and he had a pristine leather jacket on.  No patches on it, solid black only broken up by the flash of silver zippers.  Too many to be purely functional, far more than necessary.  A bridge piercing glinted between his eyes, along with snake bites on his bottom lip, gauges in his ears.  There were tattoos on his knuckles, and on his throat.  

 

Kanji like Genji’s.  Placed just the same.

 

That feeling of unease roiled higher as the man locked eyes with Jesse, inclining his head towards Riggs and Genji, the two of them having a conversation without words.  The crowd around them was thinning, Deadlocks all suddenly moving to the edges of the room, quiet and expectant.  Jesse looked over to see Genji in Riggs’ lap, surprise in his gaze for the barest of moments before he looked back at Hanzo and nodded in agreement.

 

Then Jesse grabbed his vest from the chair next to him and strode over, holding it out at Genji with a smirk.

 

“Genji.”

 

Genji leaned back, looking at Jesse upside down, the smile on his face bordering on euphoric now.

 

“Jesse.”  He said, drunk and giddy, reaching out to slide his arms in the vest before leaping catlike into Jesse’s embrace.  His long legs wrapped around Jesse’s waist, and he snagged the hat off Jesse’s head and put it on his own.  

 

It looked like it belonged there.  Like he was wearing it for the thousandth time. 

 

Riggs’ eyes caught on the patch again, this time laid out over Genji’s back, ‘Property of Jesse’.  Genji’s fingers were petting through Jesse’s hair, mouth at Jesse’s ear, whispering something Riggs’ couldn’t hear.

 

Riggs swallowed heavily, looking up at Jesse, unsure of what to say.

 

“Was gonna happen sooner or later, I s’pose, considering those eyes you were makin’ at him, and Genji will be Genji.  Best of luck, prospect.”  Jesse said, pressing a kiss to the kanji on Genji’s throat, right where Riggs’ mouth had been.  The obvious staking of a claim, but Jesse wasn’t looking at Riggs with any kind of hostility.

 

It was pity, or something like it.  The look one got from their parents when they’d been incredibly stupid, and it was too late to take it back.  Jesse walked off towards the bar, Genji nuzzling into his shoulder, giggling and pleased with himself. 

 

Riggs started to turn, ready to ask someone what the fuck Jesse had meant by that, when pain exploded across back of his head.   Half of a pool cue clattered down beside Riggs’ feet, the end splintered and sharp. He listed forward into the floor, and when he reached back to feel for a wound, his hand came away wet with blood.  Laughter rang out from the bar, unmistakably Genji’s, along with Jesse’s voice.  Half chiding, half fond.

 

“Don’t kill him, Hanzo, it ain’t his fault.  I don’t wanna hafta call in for clean up.  It’s late, and they’ll send fucking Sanchez, and I don’t have the patience for it.”

 

Riggs stumbled to his feet, clutching at his head as it throbbed, face twisted up in shock.  

 

Hanzo.  A name it felt like he should know.  Maybe less drunk, less tired, less hurt, it would have registered.  The knowledge was there somewhere, itching at the corners of his awareness.  As it was there were little spots of light in his vision, and he blinked them away, snarling as he looked at Hanzo. 

 

Hanzo, who’d busted a fucking pool cue over his head for no reason, who was tossing the other half away like so much trash.

 

“What the FUCK is wrong with you?”  He asked, and a hush fell over the room.

 

“Riggs, goddamnit, just apologize.”  Someone said, and his jaw fell open as he whipped around to the side, indignance eating him alive.

 

“Apologize for  _ what?   _ That some slutty fucking-”

 

Riggs head snapped backwards from the force of the blow that landed, smashing into his nose with an audible crack.  Genji was laughing again, and there were a few throaty chuckles from here and there throughout the bar, clearly amused.  Riggs reached up with his left hand to grab his face, gore seeping messy between his fingers.  

 

Hanzo cracked his knuckles, Riggs’ blood dripping over the kanji there, all of him coiled like a snake ready to strike.

 

“Genji isn’t for you.”  He said, like that was all the explanation necessary, like it was the answer to a question he’d asked.  Riggs barked out a dark laugh.

 

“Maybe you should tell him that.”

 

Hanzo smirked, and his fist flew out again, this time slamming into Riggs’ stomach.  Too fast, and he doubled over, air knocked out of him all at once, fighting down the urge to throw up.

 

“Genji knows, and does as he likes, often at the expense of others.  I’m teaching you, now, so I don’t have to teach you more thoroughly, later.  An early lesson, as opposed to an explicit one.  He’s not for you.”

 

Hanzo stepped in and lifted his knee, and Riggs dodged at the last moment.  It glanced across his cheek instead, and he reared up and threw a punch.  Wild, and reckless, but he wasn’t going to take a beating he hadn’t earned, not without fighting back.  Hanzo caught Riggs’ hand with his palm, fingers closing around his fist, twisting his wrist painfully backwards.  People were shouting,  _ ‘Fuck him up, Shimada!’,  _ and the name itched familiar in the back of his mind.  It was more instinct than intent that had Riggs flailing out with his other hand, swinging at Hanzo’s face, blind and uncoordinated.  Hanzo caught that one, too, and held on as his knee connected solid in Riggs’ guts.  

 

Hanzo released his hands, let Riggs’ wrap them around himself.  Bait more than mercy, the laying of a trap.  Then Hanzo’s hands were in his hair, jerking Riggs’ head down, nose crunching again as he caught Hanzo’s knee in his face.  There were cheers as he collapsed in a heap on the floor, holding his nose in both hands, gore in his mouth.  He watched, detached, as Hanzo’s boot kicked out, burying itself in his stomach.  Riggs’ jerked like a puppet with its strings yanked all at once, and went still as Hanzo crouched down in front of him, reaching out to bury his fingers in Riggs’ hair.  

 

He wrenched his head back, meeting Riggs’ eyes and pointing towards the bar, where Genji was still wrapped up in Jesse’s arms.

 

“Not for you.  Neither one of them.  Understand?”

 

Riggs coughed, blood spewing from between his lips in a fine spray.  He nodded furiously, fast enough that it made him dizzy.  Hanzo released him, and Riggs watched in a daze as his boots retreated, heading over towards Jesse and Genji.

 

Watched as he took Genji’s face in both hands and kissed him, fierce and possessive, Genji melting into him with a sigh.

 

As soon as the world stopped spinning around him Riggs crawled outside, and leaned against the wall.  It would be a while before he was sober enough to even mount his bike, let alone ride home.  He spat blood onto the ground, and ached, and finally let his eyes fall closed.

 

…

 

It was the sound of a bike starting that woke him, and Riggs startled back upright from where he’d fallen over sideways.  He wasn’t really drunk anymore, but his face hurt viciously, body sore all over from the both the beating he’d taken and sleeping on the ground.  The nausea could’ve been from all the beer, or the boot to the stomach, Riggs wasn’t sure.  Either way it took a minute before he was positive he wasn’t going to throw up, breathing in and out until the sensation passed.  Riggs’ probed cautiously at his nose, making sure that yes, it was in fact broken.  He winced, listening to the roar of the bike vanish down the road, wondering if he could manage to ride now.

 

The door to the bar slammed open, loud enough to make him cringe.  Genji stumbled out, walking backwards and chattering fast in Japanese, gesturing with his hands. Jesse and Hanzo followed, both of them answering Genji in kind, the words utterly unfamiliar to Riggs.  The language wasn’t quite smooth coming off Jesse’s tongue, but practiced enough that it was obvious he’d been speaking it for some time.  Riggs watched Genji walk up to a bike and climb on, only to have Jesse wrestle him off, speaking English now.

 

“Get your dumb ass off there, you ain’t driving nowhere.  You’re fuckin’ shitfaced.” 

 

“You’ve been drinking, too!”  Genji argued, legs kicking out wildly even as he snickered, Jesse dragging him further away from his motorcycle.

 

“Yeah, ‘cept I can walk straight.”

 

“You can’t do anything straight, Jesse.”  Genji said, that lilting voice again, still pretty enough to pull Riggs in, even after taking a beating over it.

 

Hanzo snorted at that as he mounted his bike, saying something in Japanese that Riggs barely heard.  Jesse shoved Genji at Hanzo, gently, no force behind the gesture, and Genji climbed on the bike’s seat behind Hanzo, flipping Jesse off as he did.

 

“Be glad to when we get home, doll face.”

 

Riggs’ wasn’t sure exactly what made him speak up.  Stupidity.  Curiosity, and the knowledge that he’d already gotten his ass kicked that night.  Hanzo wasn’t likely to do it again, not over a simple question.

 

He hoped, anyway, because his mouth was running out ahead of him before he could stop it.

 

“Genji!”

 

All three of them turned in unison, instantly on alert.  Riggs didn’t miss the way Jesse’s hand twitched for his gun, Hanzo’s towards his belt.  A blade of some sort materialized in Genji’s fingers, so fast Riggs didn’t even see him pull it out.  They seemed to figure out who was addressing them almost immediately, relaxing, a grin visible on Genji’s face even from such a distance.

 

“Prospect!”  He shouted, excited, like he was seeing a familiar friend after a long time away.

 

“What’s your tattoo say?” Riggs asked, feeling foolish.  Still, he wanted to know.  

 

It was the least they could do, and Genji laughed, loud and beautiful.

 

Broken nose, and ruined guts, and the sound of it still made Riggs unwind in a way that was fucking dangerous.

 

“Hanzo.  It says Hanzo.  Sweet dreams, little prospect!”

 

Then Hanzo started his bike, eyes on Riggs’ like he was daring him to speak again.  

 

Predatory.  Unmerciful.

 

Jesse climbed onto his own bike, and moments later it roared to life, an unmistakable end to the conversation.  He gave Riggs’ a slow nod, and then he and Hanzo took off together, side by side, heading west out into the night.

 

“Que sueñes con los angelitos, Genji.”  Riggs said, and pulled out a cigarette.

 

The smoke stung his lungs, and there was blood on the end of it after that first drag, ringing the tip like lipstick.

 

Riggs’ sighed, and let his head fall heavy against the wall, and watched the stars for long time.

 

Then he climbed on his bike, and drove home.

  
  
  



End file.
